Chapter Fifteen: Brewing Wine by Traditional Methods

Zhen Qian quickly regained his composure. There was no such thing as a pie falling from the sky; the prospect of opening a bank seemed tempting, yet a vast chasm loomed before him: he had no money.

How could he possibly open a bank without capital? In essence, a bank was a game of making money with money; the larger the funds, the faster the profits. Without money, he was better off staying on the sidelines. Though his heart yearned for it, he knew now was not the time. One must eat meal by meal, walk step by step. What mattered most was how to earn his first pot of gold.

Presently, Zhen Qian was like a pauper living atop a mountain of gold. The Zhen household possessed a sizable fortune nominally his, but in name only; he could not touch a single coin, leaving him thoroughly frustrated.

“My first pot of gold!”

He silently recited, running through all his plans in his mind. There were truly few ventures that could earn his first pot of gold in the shortest time. After much consideration, he fixed his thoughts on brewing liquor.

Legend holds that the art of brewing in China began with Yi Di, the daughter of Shun, but the passage of time has made such origins impossible to verify.

It was said that when the Wei kingdom flourished, the rulers of Lu, Song, Wei, and Han came to pay tribute. The King of Wei held a banquet for the nobles in the garden terrace. As the wine flowed, the host toasted his guests. Duke Gong of Lu rose from his seat, spoke solemnly: “Long ago, Yi Di, Shun’s daughter, mastered the art of brewing, producing a mellow wine. She offered it to Yu, who found it delicious, yet distanced himself from her and abstained from fine wine, stating: ‘In future generations, there will surely be those whose nations are destroyed by the lure of good wine.’”

Duke Huan of Qi once felt hungry late at night and desired something to eat. Yi Ya prepared delicious dishes for him, and Duke Huan ate his fill, sleeping soundly till dawn. Upon waking, he said: “In future generations, there will surely be those whose nations are destroyed by the pursuit of delicacies.”

Duke Wen of Jin obtained the beauty Nan Zhiwei, and for three days neglected state affairs. He sent her away, saying: “In future generations, there will surely be those whose nations are destroyed by the love of beauty.”

King Ling of Chu ascended the high terrace to gaze upon Mount Beng, the Yangtze to his left, the great lake to his right, and as he wandered, he lost himself in the joy of the landscape, forgetting the approach of death. He swore never to indulge again, later saying: “In future generations, there will surely be those whose nations are destroyed by the construction of grand terraces, slopes, and pools.”

“Now, in your cup is wine as fine as Yi Di’s brew; on your table, delicacies prepared by Yi Ya; to your left and right, beauties akin to Nan Zhiwei; before you, groves and pavilions like the strong terrace. Any one of these is enough to cause a nation’s ruin, yet you possess all four—should you not be wary?” The King of Wei praised this admonition highly.

This was the earliest record of fine wine. Another origin, more popular among the people, credits Du Kang as the inventor of wine, a notion perpetuated by scholars and widely spread through primers, songbooks, and moral tales of old. It largely stems from Cao Cao’s ballad “Short Song,” which declares, “What can dispel sorrow? Only Du Kang.”

The most wondrous tale is that of monkeys brewing wine. Monkeys, living by gathering wild fruit, are adept at storing their finds. In nature, fruit ripens strictly by season, requiring storage. Ancient apes of the primordial era would hide surplus fruit in caves and hollows. Over time, the fruit would rot; the sugar-rich wild fruit, exposed to wild yeast, would ferment naturally, producing alcohol and wine. Thus arose legends such as “Monkeys can gather a hundred flowers to brew wine” and “Samples found deep in stone caves are monkey wine.”

No matter the origin, China’s wine culture stretches far and deep. By the Tang dynasty, wine was indispensable to merriment and poetry. Li Bai composed a hundred poems in drunken revelry; in the “Complete Tang Poetry,” over twelve thousand poems, a fifth concern wine.

Brewing techniques in the Tang were advanced; several emperors personally engaged in brewing. Emperor Taizong produced a fragrant, potent green grape wine, and the industry boomed, yielding a great variety of wines.

From the brewing process, most Tang wines were “water wine,” though some regions produced low-proof spirits. Wei Zhuang wrote, “Zhuo woman brews Spring strong and fine,” referring to Jian Nan wine, the precursor to today’s Jian Nan Chun. Grain was the primary ingredient, though grape wine, coconut wine, and dairy wine existed, as evidenced by Du Fu’s poem thanking a Daoist for a bottle of milk wine. Wines ranged in color—white, red, yellow, green. Famous brands included Xin Feng wine, Chang’an wine, Changsha wine, Linchuan wine, Jinling wine, and others, sixteen in all. Wang Wei praised, “Xin Feng’s fine wine costs ten thousand coins a jug,” while Li Bai lauded, “Lanling’s fragrant wine rivals saffron.”

Wine was popular among all classes of Tang society—from emperors and ministers to merchants and laborers, scholars and farmers, women in the boudoirs, travelers on the road, monks and priests, commoners and outsiders; none could resist the allure of the cup.

Zhen Qian mused secretly whether his own rustic brew would find a market in the Tang. Ordinary wine was not difficult to produce, but to stand out among the myriad famed Tang wines would not be easy, especially since many brewing secrets were inherited by families and had since been lost. Restoring ancient methods would be unwise.

Nevertheless, from a historical perspective, strong spirits would inevitably emerge after the Tang, in the Yuan and Ming eras. He would simply bring forward the timeline.

Zhen Qian looked down at the cup in his hand. Tang brewing was simple: take grain (mainly rice), water, and starter, mix in set proportions, seal in a large jar, and wait for fermentation. The process could take days or months. When the time was right, lime was sprinkled in... There were still microbes present; to prevent the wine from turning sour, lime was added to halt fermentation.

Such short-term fermented wine was characteristically cloudy—indeed, this was “cloudy wine.” If one was not picky, a simple filtration sufficed to make it drinkable. Cloudy wine, at first glance, often appeared greenish, as Bai Juyi wrote, “Green ants freshly brewed wine, a small red clay stove,” and Li Bai, “A thousand cups of green wine, why refuse drunkenness? A single glance at red makeup stirs the heart.” Many works of the era described wine as green. The reason lay in the brewing technique; the starter’s quality was unpredictable, often mixed with other microbes, resulting in greenish wine.

As for taste, modern drinkers often find their first sip harsh—burning the throat—yet Tang people likely did not experience this, for Tang wine was typically sweet. Poets frequently compared wine to sweeteners such as “xing” and “yi” (“xing” was a Tang sweetener, akin to sugar; “yi” was a malt syrup). For instance, Gao Pian wrote, “Blossoms burn like fire, wine sweet as syrup,” and Liu Yuxi, “Lake fish more fragrant than meat, official wine sweeter than syrup.” This was due to the method: much of the grain was converted to sugar during fermentation, making Tang wine thick and viscous—“green syrup clings to the cup and ladle.”

Besides cloudy wine, Zhen Qian thought of another Tang wine that many would recognize: “Grape wine in a luminous cup, ready to drink as the pipa urges from horseback.” Indeed—grape wine.

Grape wine had entered China as early as the Han dynasty, though its price was exorbitant. Not until the conquest of Gaochang in the Tang was grape wine brewing brought to the heartland, and it became widespread. River East Qian and grape wine were among China’s earliest wine brands. Yet it remained costly; Li Bai wrote, “Grape wine, golden goblet, fifteen Wu maidens carry it on fine horses,” highlighting its rarity. This wine was closest to modern tastes—should a traveler to the Tang find local brews unpalatable, grape wine was the answer.

In the early Tang, the court issued a “prohibition on wine.” After the chaos at the end of Sui, all industries languished, famine was widespread, and grain was scarce—no one could afford the luxury of brewing. By mid-Tang, granaries were overflowing and the ban was lifted, ushering in a flourishing drinking culture.

Most famed Tang wines were brewed by small workshops, renowned yet produced in limited quantities. Most were sold locally; long-distance transport was rare and prices extremely high.

Zhen Qian pondered, “Uncle Wang, does the Zhen household have its own tavern?”

Wang Qun, puzzled by the question, replied, “We do brew our own fine wine, but only in small amounts, usually not for sale.”

“And the wine sold in the restaurant—where does it come from?”

Wang Qun smiled, “All the wine in the restaurant is supplied regularly by other taverns. Around Zhen Ding, there are several large taverns that brew fine wine each year; the restaurant and the taverns have agreements, and every ten days or so, a batch is delivered. Are you interested in taverns, Young Master?”

Zhen Qian nodded, “If I brew wine, could it be sold in the tavern? Do other restaurants in Zhen Ding also buy wine from taverns?”

Wang Qun shook his head, “Other restaurants in Zhen Ding do buy wine from outside, but the larger the establishment, the less they rely on external purchases. After all, buying wine from other taverns versus brewing one’s own makes a big difference in profit. Unless it’s a very famous wine, restaurants are reluctant to sell the wine from other taverns.”

Zhen Qian understood this well—brewing at home was cheaper, and with similar taste, no merchant would make such a foolish choice. The key was that private brewing had a low technical threshold.

Zhen Qian nodded secretly, “Uncle Wang, could you help me procure some raw wine—nearly finished, if possible; if not, ordinary cloudy wine will do, but I’ll need a fair amount, say a hundred or two hundred bushels, and at the lowest price possible.”